How Long Will I Love You (As Long as Stars are Above You)
by withstarsisee
Summary: Spirk. In the fluffy, smutty, somewhat angsty way. (Obviously.) Kirk gets bruised, Spock loses control, then sex happens (while mindmeld sex happens). The two face their deepest secrets, their darkest insecurities, and what it means to love each other.


**How Long Will I Love You (As Long as Stars are Above You)**

The story is the same. Thus, the ending remains the same.

Kirk, with a bloody mouth still curled into his easygoing smirk, arrives back on the Enterprise and into Spock's arms. Upon contact, Spock locks his relief up tight and tries not to respond to Kirk's mental agony of the injuries he is hiding. The Vulcan should resist the touch, he knows Kirk is often better at hiding emotion than he himself, but he can't. Not touching Kirk is not reassuring himself that yes, Kirk is back on the ship in (mostly) one piece.

"Spock, you got it from here?" His blue eyes are bright and his hands tighten on his first officer's arms, his body sags just the tiniest bit. A sigh of exhaustion passes from Kirk to Spock's sensory receptors, but he does not pass out until Spock responds calmly, "Certainly, Captain."

Bones is nearby, gruff and rumbling about spiky-haired idiots, as he and one of the orderlies heft the captain's weight off Spock and rush to medical. Spock straightens. He remembers his duty. He does not allow entry to the anxiety that threatens now that his emotions are the only he feels. He pushes them out so there is none.

This is the script Kirk and Spock follow; have followed for two years so far. Details change: the planet, the natives, the cause for disruption of what should be a harmless assignment. The captain is odd in that he has the worst of luck and somehow the best of luck. Spock has tried to combat these varying statistics with logic, but it is often of no use.

Kirk will not stay on the ship, he will not cease recklessly risking his life for others, and he will not listen when Spock tells him he shouldn't (do a lot of different things). So Spock had to logically adjust. He figured his calculations would work better if he were able to continuously shift them in the course of one mission. He figured the only way to amend the Kirk anomaly was to stay by his side.

Missions had begun to run smoother for Kirk, less so for Spock. More and more, they began to share the brunt of the injuries. Kirk's hands scraped, Spock's cheek bruised, Kirk's ankle swelling, Spock's collarbone fractured. A trade Spock found himself exceedingly pleased with (if he were to feel pleased).

Kirk, on the other hand, was not.

They'd grown closer the more times they'd been captured together, been poisoned together, been sentenced to die together. Spock worked harder to hide the tells Kirk was now an expert at reading in his Vulcan expression. And Spock began to see the furrowed brow, the frown, the frustration that Kirk wasn't quite so quick to cover with a grin and wink.

This time, the time where Kirk beamed aboard the Enterprise alone, carrying the mark of injuries that were supposed to be for two, Spock could feel something growing in the pit of his stomach. It was coiling, consuming. Cold.

Spock stood next to the Captain's empty chair, mind not on the perfectly executed escape by the bridge staff, or the mission report he would have to compose later, but on what this emotion was that threatened to make him lose it. Startled, Spock reexamined that notion. Lose it. He was going to _lose _it.

A human idiom that had never made sense to Spock until now. The captain had snuck off without him, almost getting himself killed, fully knowing the likelihood of death without his first officer by his side.

It was fear twisting his insides. Binding him up so tightly, he knew at the point of release he was going to lose all control – it would spin him out and the world would blur. It was kinetic, it was torque, it was completely unpredictable and unprecedented and Spock knew he had to stop. It was getting harder to breathe; his pulse had greatly accelerated, _no_.

"Excellent work, Lietentant Sulu," he said stiffly, hiding his shaking fists behind his back. He nodded to the rest of alpha staff, and then returned his gaze back to his helmsman. "You have the conn." He ignored the puzzled looks from the crew, specifically that of Uhura's, who had become too good at reading him. While his romantic relationship with her had ended well at the beginning of their five year mission, they had grown only closer as friends. They were suited well in all things but physical intimacy, something that had surprised neither of them after its discovery.

Spock exited quietly, willing his hands to relax at his sides. His stride was not faster, but longer, as he made his way to his quarters. He could feel the agitation creeping up on him, and he worried it might be too late for meditation.

It had been 1.94 hours since the captain beamed safely back to the ship, 14.27 since communication with all Enterprise officers had been lost, and 21.88 since Kirk had misinformed Spock about the estimated departure time of the landing party. Time enough for the fear in Spock's gut to have dissipated; time enough for the rolling fury to also have gone.

With a steadied, practiced breath Spock entered his quarters. And met the eyes of one James T. Kirk, captain of the U.S.S. Enterprise. Spock's teeth clacked together, and Kirk's glance swayed to the tell in Spock's jaw that was impossible to hide.

A beat.

"Now, I know you're mad, Spock," Kirk started with upheld palms, his expression shifting to one of mollification. Spock could not. He was tired. Against all reason and logic, he lost it.

* * *

When Jim had awoken in medbay, with a vicious looking Bones standing over him, his first thought was of how he was going to deal with a certain first officer. Now that he was healthy (all patched up by the Fleet's greatest new skin grafting technology), and had been told by Chapel that he had fainted from a bout of low blood sugar and not excessive blood loss, he figured it would be any moment he'd be released back to duty.

Well, sort of. (They probably would keep him from the bridge for at least twenty-four hours, damn them.)

"You Goddamn idiot!" Bones had obviously saved his biggest hypo for a conscious Jim.

"In my defense," Kirk tried, using his crooked grin that worked best to calm his oldest friend. The second biggest hypo then. "Ow!"

"Are you stupid or sumtin'?" Bones yelled, calmly slightly and without notice of the brief hand placed on his arm by Nurse Chapel. Jim usually liked making Bones's accent thicker in its Southerness, and he really liked watching the subtle and unmentioned interactions between his Chief Medical Officer and his toughest nurse, but he had things to do.

"Yes, a complete idiot. I know, I know, Bones."

The fight went out of his best friend. Jim felt his throat tighten and knew Bones was about to get sentimental in a way Jim was not good at at all. He plastered on his brightest grin and self-deprecatingly shrugged in a manner that said, "What are ya going to do with me?"

"A _complete_ idiot," the doctor grumbled with emphasis, and Jim felt the tension in his back relax that he would not have to get into any deep emotions. Jim was no good with emotions. Not with the real ones. The ones that _hurt_. Anger was the closest he got to anything of the sort, but he had gotten better and better with age (and being only twenty-six would get only better) at hiding it all with shiny teeth and the charm the Kirk gene had gifted him.

"You're free to go, kid, but only because I know with a clean bill of health whatever fate has planned for you from that green-blooded hobgoblin is worse than you dying of boredom here." Jim winced, partly for show so Bones could respond with a laugh, and partly because he was not looking forward – read: dreading – the talk he would have to have with his first officer.

"I've got a good argument lined up to combat Spock," Jim fibbed. "Very logical."

"Uh huh," Bones said, rolling his eyes in a Southern mimicry for, "Bull-fuckin'-shit."

"Guess I better get to it!" Jim said cheerfully, hoping off the bed, ignoring both the tilt of the room on his sudden ascension and the protest from Bones. "Thanks, dear!"

He smiled absently at the medical officers in the main room, waving a hand that signaled them to resume their work and debated where to go once he was out of medbay. The bridge if he wanted to hit Spock head on. But, no. That would be entirely unfair to have that conversation in front of everyone after he'd already humiliated his First.

Jim's face burned not from the grin that remained on his face at the salutes from the various personnel he passed on his journey toward Spock, but from the acknowledgement that despite Spock's continued dismissals, his feelings were in existence and probably smarting. Humiliation was ugly and usually followed by shame, something Spock felt most strongly of all. He'd learnt that the more and more they got to know each other.

Humiliation came from inadequacies. And inadequacy was Spock's human half. The human half that trusted Jim when he'd told his First Officer that the dubious mission scheduled for On'terina at 1200 hours was actually a peaceful treaty meeting at 1000 hours. His only lie to Spock.

Well, not his only. Not his biggest.

That secret had to be buried, hidden, pushed deep, deep and _away_. Jim needed Spock, therefore he needed him to live. Jim didn't understand why Spock had taken to insisting on joining him on away missions. Jim constantly found himself in trouble, and the more this proved true, the closer Spock stuck to him.

He could not let Spock's duty to his captain be his downfall. Jim could be responsible for his lies to Spock, but he could not – would not – be responsible for Spock's death. It would be illogical. And Kirk would hate himself. He would detest every memory and moment where the world had vanished and back to back were just Kirk and Spock. Spock and Kirk.

Jim realized he was gnawing at the edge of his busted lip when he lightly tasted metallic, then swallowed the familiar tang of his blood. He found himself headed to his quarters. No, not his, Spock's. Private and yet not cowardly. He gained access easily and thoughtlessly, inhaling deeply. Incense, citrus, and Spock.

Swiping his tongue quickly over his lip, he paced. His two worst habits to help him figure out a way to explain his actions to Spock. Explain in a way that didn't leave room for the conclusion that Jim had discovered in himself and pushed down, down, down. Squash those feelings; turn that hope into energy. Into a force harnessed to keep his crew safe. To keep Spock safe.

The swish of the door interrupted a half-formed explanation, and he swirled to face his first officer, who he had not expected until the end of alpha shift, which should be in another three or so hours.

If it had been anyone else, Jim would've said they had run in. But Spock didn't run, so it was clear Spock had just been on a clear single-minded mission to return to his living space. The purpose for this mission was lost on Jim, even as he tried to grapple the sudden arrival of Spock.

Jim could not have missed the jump in Spock's jaw – so human a gesture – even if it had been in the first months of their acquaintance. Seeing as it was years into their friendship, Jim figured pretty damn quick that Spock was pissed. Jim gave a moment to let that sink in and wait for Spock to throw the first word.

Nothing.

"Now, I know you're mad, Spock," he forces out, holding out his hands in surrender. He tries to grasp for the charm that usually came sooner but Spock's anger (so very, very rare) had startled his functioning completely.

Jim's back hits the wall (had he been close to the wall?) by a strength so immovable he thought for a moment the Enterprise had been attacked and thrown him off kilter. But, no, that's heat, _heat_, and then Spock's lips are on his and if Jim thought he couldn't function before that is nothing like this. This, this, this.

His mouth moves quickly, his fingers curling into the arms that feel like molten lava, but nothing, _nothing_ compares to the heat when Spock's tongue meets his and there is arousal and affection and every other emotion, including the terrifying rage he saw on Spock's countenance a millisecond before. But the time is objective, off, and the thought is not a thought but a feeling. With a gasp, Jim understands this is the effect of a kiss with a touch-sensitive psi individual like Spock.

No filters. No hiding the one thing that desperately surges to the forefront, never truly deep or away or down, but always there, settling at the front, awaiting Spock's touch. Spock's hands cradling Jim's head, at the jaw and at the nape, hips pressing against hips, toe to toe.

Jim claws at Spock's shoulders, pressing greedily forward though there is nowhere for either of them to go. He doesn't think, he just feels. The thump of Spock's racing heart near his pelvic bone, the trail of fingers across the side of his face, the wet, burning mouth that is taking breath and giving it back. All of it right back until it takes and takes. A cycle of enough and fuck, not enough.

And of course the emotions – the entire spectrum of feeling felt all at once and stark enough that they blur together in a way he knows Spock would denote as "Illogical". Then, all at once, cold. The higher temperature of Spock's quarters useless when their bodies separate.

"Captain, I apologize," Spock pants, mouth trembling and gaze not quite reaching that of Jim's. "I had a…lapse." He seems to not be able to continue.

"You had your tongue down my throat a moment ago, and you're still going to call me Captain?" Jim asks dazed. Finally, Spock looks him straight in the eye, and it's like Jim can see the barriers as they are being resurrected. No. Spock straightens, and Jim (always) refuses to lose.

* * *

"Not happening," Kirk growls, a glare on his face so steel-like, Spock is halted simply because his mind has to catalogue the new expression. Then the human is yanking his face back towards his, and it shouldn't happen because Spock's strength is far superior, but it's not (not really) and it's the surprise that always levels the playing field. The unpredictability that challenges Spock.

The unpredictably that emerges from himself because of Kirk that frees him. Kirk is everything. And Spock is afraid because his walls are smashed, and it's Kirk who wrecked them – and there is no control. Kirk licks down to his neck and sucks a curve around his neck and mouths just under his ear. And there is absolutely no control.

There is no decision to be made, because it was never a choice. Their existence is, well, it just _is_.

Spock has taken off Kirk's shirt and they are on Spock's bed and Spock tries not to be upset by how he has missed the physical act of these events. He tries to slow down, he tries to savor. Kirk must feel the shift, because his kisses soften, and he raises his lips back to Spock's sweetly. Tenderly. Together they peel off Spock's science blue shirt. Together they ease down until Kirk's shirtless chest is pressed to Spock's. Together they wonder in Kirk's hands trailing down Spock's side and up through the solar plexus and slight swerve to pass over a nipple. Together their breaths stutter.

"Kirk, I-"

"Jim," he corrects in a whisper, a small kiss where his fingers had just traveled over the other hardened peak. The intimacy hits him, causing a flush (like one he hasn't had since he was a child) to spread from the tips of his ears and the bottom of his clavicle. Spock cannot form what he wants into a sentence. Kirk – Jim – seems to know this. "No words; I can _feel_ it. More so when you use your hands," he says with a smile and a glance at Spock's hands which have fisted in the sheets below him.

It is difficult. To acknowledge the emotions that should not dictate him, to share these abhorrent things that has been compiling within him since their first meeting. It is every feeling and all at once. He cherishes them when he knows he should not, and he wants them (he does, he does so there) when he knows it is against everything he's ever been taught.

But.

With a tentative hand, Spock reaches up, starting at Kirk- Jim's- bicep, moving slowly along the expanse of skin everywhere and the pressure varies because he can feel it like he is leaking (not quite right), pouring (still not right), melding with everything in Kir-Jim. Emotion matched to emotion. Moment to moment. Sensation to sensation.

He wants, he needs, he is. Spock surrenders because it has suddenly come to his attention that this (them) was inevitable. Kaiidth. Ki-Jim is comprised of everything that Spock is missing and didn't know he lacked. The bad stuff, the good stuff, all necessary for a completeness that Spock has longed for his whole life. Not two halves, just acceptance from a whole.

Spock sucks K-Jim's lip into his mouth, enjoying the hum that comes from his partner. It resonates, it heats, it affects. That, on the most fundamental level, is Jim to Spock. He raises his hand in the meld pattern along the right side of Kirk – Jim's face, beseeching.

The words are murmured into his partner's mouth, "My mind to your mind." Ki-Jim kisses him between phrases, encouraging, pleading. Then he is in and. Wait, he never was not in. He was always. They were always.

"_You never knew him, Jimmy," his brother says coldly, snatching back the picture that shows a father that he felt he could never really call his (theirs). "That's my dad. He's just a stranger to you, so you should keep your mouth shut about knowing anything about him. He is not yours."_

_He (they) are seven and it's the first time he's seen a photo of their (not theirs, just George's) father that is not the Starfleet photo of a practiced smile and every hair in place. It is as George said, looking at a stranger. Every time Captain George Kirk comes up into conversation, every time the family is reminded of the missing dad, his brother (their brother) turns on him. _

"_Fine," his (their) eyes water but he (they) smiles, "you can have him. Hasn't done much for us anyway."_

_The punch hurts enough so that the tears gathering are allowed to spill, a perfect excuse. Then he (they) gathers all his (their) strength and swings back. He (they) is satisfied at the look of absolute shock and pain on his (their) brother's smug face._

Kirk-Jim falls on top of him, pressing physically closer, but his eyes are shut tight, and there is only so much Spock can focus on because while he relishes in the real weight of Jim on top of him, mentally he is in awe.

_He (they) can't quite help the way he (they) feels when the plains stretch out around him (them) and the stars stretch out above him (them). Endless, forever. Everything falls away and he (they) can feel it in his (their) heart. Bloodied again, beat up again, but not too much worse for wear, he (they) cannot feel the same terror he (they) felt earlier when two guys merged on him (them) for getting in the middle of a fight he (they) had no right belonging in. But he (they) hated when he (they) saw an unfair fight. Bar rules or not, he (they) had his (their) own moral code._

_When he (they) looks at the sky, he (they) feels right. He (they) does not feel small. He (they) is not afraid. He (they) feels it. In his (their) gut. The stars are home. The sky is calling. The world is not enough. One world could never be enough. He (they) wants galaxies; he (they) want universes. That's the only thing that is right (logical)._

_He (they) reach up and closing one eye, grab at the stars, gathering them up and knowing he (they) can hold them close. The stars belong to him (them)._

_When he (they) smiles, his (their) lip splits open and then he (they) laughs. Hard and long and loud. He (they) is alone anyway. _

Spock can feel Kir-Jim's hand over his, the one that creates the meld. He is panting, maybe they are both panting. A kiss, a low desperate moan, and Jim's hand tightens on Spock's.

_The kiss is a tad too wet for him (them) but he gives it back, trailing his (their) knuckles down Sharon's too thin arm. It feels like only bone, but he (they) knows that isn't true because he (they) can also feel the toughness of skin. He (they) remembers when it used to feel like smooth silk, when Sharon used to be able to flip him (them) over, and when a fire burned in her eyes when she fought with him (them)._

_Now Sharon doesn't fight with anyone. Sharon doesn't fight, period._

"_Jim, I'm so hungry." Sharon bites at his (their) bony shoulder, and for a bizarre second he (they) is afraid she will tear his (their) flesh. But that is not this horror. That is a different nightmare. "I'm just so, so hungry."_

_He (they) is angry. So, so, fucking angry. Who cares if Sharon is hungry? Sharon has given up and lies around while he (they) – _he (they)_ has to risk the soldiers and the other desperate inhabitants. He (they) has to feed more than a dozen mouths and he (they) doesn't complain every second. He (they) is on the verge of saying this when with one last sigh, Sharon's chest doesn't expand once more. He (they) chokes._

_He (they) is alone. But he (they) can't give up. People are relying on him (them). He (they) has to be good enough. Sharon allowed his (their) weakness and he (they) couldn't even give her the same respect back. He (they) is worthless. And _that _is why he (they) is alone._

His knuckles crack under Kirk-Jim's hand as the meld is physically removed by a panting Jim. He pulls away, gritting his teeth, and sliding his eyes away from Spock's. It is quiet, quiet, (dark) alone in his mind. He is alone. Alone. He is he, solitary and wanting. Craving, craving. He is greedy and lacking. Lacking, without.

* * *

It takes a moment for Jim to comprehend all that Spock has taken. Well, no, no, that's not right. Spock took nothing that was not given. But there was no control. Everything out there in the open. Jim cannot fake his reactions; he cannot give the little he is used to giving. People have always told him he is best taken in doses, but Spock – Spock wants to drown in him.

"It's all or nothing isn't it?" Kirk croaks, tries to stop the tremble in the arm holding his weight, to stop the urge to move closer and run at the same time.

"I'm," Spock's words are not their usual even measure, "I'm afraid so, Jim."

"It's hideous," he whispers lowly. "I'm-" wrong, bad, _hiding. _He doesn't think he's been so terrified in all his life. He can't lose this. He'll lose Spock, Spock will see, not just see, fucking experience all that Jim is horrible. When they meld, it's a hundred different moments, all the feelings tucking around them, and Spock is beside him. Within him. Never mind, fuck it. It's past explanation.

The bottom line is Jim is fucking _terrified_. It's too much. It's suffocating.

"Jim," Spock rolls closer, nose to nose now. He expels a cool breath across his face that makes Jim's eyelashes flutter. Jim wants, he wants still. "Jim, I'm looking at you." But he can't mean it literally because now his eyes are closed. "I – I want you to look at me too."

A spike of fear. But not his own. His own mirrored back at him, Spock's terror reflected in himself. Jim chokes a weak chuckle. Always touching, or something like that right? Jim is Spock. And, hell (he gets it now) Spock is Jim.

Jim leans himself forwards and places a kiss on the tip of Spock's middle finger, mouths the side of the pointer, licks the wedge of skin between the two and continues until he breaths out a harsh gasp of air against Spock's palm. He watches Spock's reaction, marvels in the way Spock watches him back, the way his eyes darken.

With his hand (not entirely steady) he replaces his mouth and twines their fingers together and he can feel what it's doing to Spock, and in turn to him. It's oddly (but not oddly) erotic, and almost crippling in the pleasure the tiny act brings. Sensitive.

Then Jim, as Jim often does, leaps. And he presses Spock's hand back against his face, this time ready to focus on Spock. Spock who was there in every moment. Spock who can do nothing but concede to Jim's wishes.

"_The decision you are making is illogical and I believe it is best to reevaluate the magnitude of your emotions on the course of the events that took this place this afternoon." His (their) father has found a way to corner him (them), the imposing Vulcan completely, perfectly blank. A flawless example. "Spock, choosing to pursue a career in Starfleet cannot be the best decision for you."_

"_I have meditated long over the subject matter. I have made the most logical decision when it comes to choosing which place best puts me at the best to help the greater number." Spock (and Jim) is lying._

_The truth is he (they) knows he'll (they'll) snap. Regardless of what was said by the Vulcan Academy of Sciences committee, that his (their) human side is an obstacle, he (they) knows he (they) cannot cage themselves in with fully-blooded Vulcans. He (they) will lose._

"_Spock." A pause, but no matter how hard he (they) looks he (they) will never see anything more on his (their) father's face. "Son, I urge you to reconsider."_

_He (they) cannot. It will force the admission that he (they) is weak. Unsuitable. Better to save face now and pretend it is one small human lapse of judgment than come to the day where he (they) fully unveils himself (themselves), shatters his (their) mask, loses his (their) mind. He (they) is not supposed to feel trapped at the thought of work among emotionless colleagues. He (they) is not supposed to feel anything. _

Jim blindly searches for Spock's mouth with his own, caught between a thousand moments and this reality. It is a lot. Too much. Never enough.

_He (they) relaxes back into I-Chaya, the fur of his (their) companion helping to ward off the cold desert night. This is his (their) test of manhood. He (they) thinks about failing, about what that would mean, about how it might be easier. But as his (their) sehlat falls into slumber, and he (they) expands his (their) senses to further tune into the solitary nature around him (them), he (they) cannot resist looking upward. _

_The stars, oh. It is illogical (stupid) to find such comfort in them. They are merely gas, atoms exactly as he (they) is. As everything and everyone is. Stars are not special – the sky has no greater meaning. But, and he (they) is alone out here and that's the comfort now, they make him (them) feel. _

_He (they) allows himself (themselves) this. For once. His (their) chest feels heavy. There is more. Logically, of course there is more. And he (they) wants, he (they) wants._

_He (they) is young and so he lets himself (themselves) assign every star an emotion. One of his (their) emotions. The stars will feel for him (them). The stars will want for him (them)._

"God, Spock," Jim mutters, pressing his hips down, feeling Spock's hardness against his own. Spock seems grateful for the reprieve because they are discovering that their greatest secrets are one in the same. It's not chronological, it doesn't make sense, but they fit. In every way, in every moment they belong to each other.

"_That's the third bruise this month, sweetie." His (their) mother says with a frown. He (they) hate that she can frown. Her eyes are concerned and he (they) hates that too. He (they) wonders what it must be like to be the only one on an entire planet who can do what she wants. Express whatever she feels. It is her genetics that cause the torment he (they) is having to hide from her._

"_It is," he (they) acknowledges, because only a human would uselessly say a fact that has already been noticed clearly by all parties. _

"_Spock." Her eyes focus on him (them), and he (they) forces himself (themselves) to not twitch a single muscle as his (their) mother bites back a smile. "You're six and I know you're not that clumsy. You can try to be brave and act like it doesn't bother you, but if someone is hurting you, I need to know." Her face flickers back to distress and he (they) is suddenly overrun with sadness. _

_His (their) mother, so human, so expressive, will never truly understand. His (their) greatest friend, his (their) only true confidant will never connect with him (them) on a way that can actually get to him (them). She is lost. He (they) has lost her. He (they) wants to sob, to bang his (their) fists on the floor, and scream until his (their) lungs give out. _

_He (they) keeps every facial muscle in check and they scream at him in the ways he (they) can't. It hurts. She hurts him (them) by her very existence. By allowing his (theirs)_

"_I love you, Spock," she says with a sigh, bringing her only son into her arms. His (their) throat closes up and he (they) wishes he (they) would've known the time before was the last time he (they) allowed himself to tell his (their) mother the words back, "I love you, mother."_

_Because he (they) does not love. _

Jim is suddenly flipped onto his back, and he is flushed, and aware. And Spock was right, before he was not looking, but now he has, and it all makes sense. He has lived two entire lifetimes in the span of seconds and he has been broken and healed and broken and maybe he never completely broke in the first place. Not with Spock there.

Spock has forced Jim's hands above his head, and Jim arches, seeking, searching, but the weight of Spock on his thigh, hard, hot, is just this side of enough.

He cannot help but smile his easygoing smirk, even as he sweats and pants, and is met with Spock's hard stare. A mask to match a mask. But it doesn't work on either of them; they've beat each other at their own game. They know, they are.

"I cannot change for you, Jim." That intense, smoldering gaze. He softens it with a quick kiss to the side of Jim's mouth and a slow, _delicious_ roll of his hips.

"Spock," he groans. His smile becomes real; the one that looks beat up and shy (the truth of Jim he can admit here, only here). "You changed all along to become what I needed right here. We changed together, you pointy-eared bastard. Every moment you had made me – every moment of mine made you." He chokes off a laugh, surging forward, delighted when Spock keens back at him, looking surprised at himself.

"Illogical."

"Exactly," Jim says, grinning. He bites his lip, and wraps his legs around Spock, using the leverages to get the angle just right. The friction, _fuck._

* * *

Jim, Jim, his Jim.

Spock will not let him say the words, but he projects his love (his ardor, his depth of feelings) across Jim's skin, grasping his hands tightly around Jim's, holding on, trying to find an anchor as Jim's own spiral of feelings catch him. It is there, between them. Unspoken only by words.

"Pants off!" Jim grunts, licking around Spock's ear. Yes, yes.

He might rip them off, but to be fair, they are the thin things the medbay make in-patients wear. Spock is distracted by this fact, remembering his anger from earlier and trying to disengage from the fully aroused human below him. Jim only uses this moment to force Spock's tight pants off him, his boots he struggles off as an afterthought.

They are naked, and Spock is leaking from his tip in the self-lubricating way Vulcans have, and Jim lifts his excited eyes to Spock's, but he knows this anatomical fact because Jim knows Spock. It's all going fast again, and while Spock knows he cannot stop its actuality, he tries to slow its momentum.

"Spock, I know you are wanting to yell at me more right now, but, fuck, you are green. And," Jim says with a curl of his lip, sliding his hand around Spock's shaft (Spock refuses to let his eyes roll back in his head), "I know just how to touch you."

Lust, the tinest smidgen more in degree than his rage from earlier, makes Spock groan. Jim kisses Spock's bobbing Adam's apple, and then his lips head lower. And not only does Jim know Spock, but Spock knows Jim, so he knows just how fucking amazing Jim is at blowjobs.

"This is so weird," Jim mumbles with a kiss to Spock's side, right over his racing heart, and then lowers. "I know exactly where you'll like it. How to make you cum in ten seconds flat." Jim sucks up the amount of pre-cum that is on the very tip, making Spock's hips jerk. "It's almost no fun, so I figure I'll have to get a little creative."

Spock knows (of course he knows) that Jim is talker during sex, but experiencing it in reality as him and Jim as Jim is completely different. Spock himself is usually very silent, but he is a moaning mess and he can't find it in himself to really care when Jim's sliding a flat tongue along the underside of his cock. He runs a hand through Kirk's soft blonde hair. The softness ignites the sensory pads of his finger, and then Jim swallows him whole.

"Jim," Spock whines, digging his heels into the bed. He tries not to thrust up at Jim, tries not to make Jim gag, but it is the hardest test of control he has ever faced.

With a lewd pop, Jim swallows much of the moisture Spock has produced and grins rakishly up at Spock. "You know right now I know what you like if you know what you like. But, the way I see it, there's got to be things you'll like that you don't even know you'll like yet." Jim demonstrates this by running his hand along Spock, getting his hand ridiculously slick and then tracing the rim of Spock's anus.

Oh. Oh, _oh_. Spock's legs fall open and he grips hard at the other hand of Jim's that has come up to interlace with his.

"I mean, this one is an easy one," Jim exhales a huff over Spock's cock, clearly affected himself even though his attentions have been entirely focused on Spock. Forcing himself to focus, Spock realizes that he can feel how Jim is affected because Jim can feel how he is affected. Obviously. They are a mirror, reflecting, emitting, sharing in each other's pleasure.

Jim's eased a finger into him now, touching Spock where he's never been touched. Then two, slowly, carefully, pushing and pulling. Jim licks up and down Spock's shaft, making it hard for Spock to focus entirely on only one of the sensations. There is too much to feel. Spock revels in the freedom to feel it all.

"I am pretty sure you'll like this…" Jim says softly, mouthing at Spock, while his fingers search for something, scissoring wider, then pressing deeper until, fuck.

"Fuck," Spock swears lowly, his body spasming and rippling, and Spock knows it's his prostrate because he knows Jim likes that spot in his own body. Jim is stuck on the curse Spock unthinkingly uttered, and Spock uses the pause to roll them back over and align them once more.

* * *

Jim smiles into this kiss Spock gives him, thinking how much it excites him that Spock's taste is still on the inside of his mouth and Spock's tongue is exploring every crevice for it. Jim is also thinking how exciting it is that Spock can have multiple dry orgasms. Jim is also thinking (okay he has a lot of things going on right now) how fucking _amazing _it is to know someone else this intimately and still be thrilled at the prospect of discovering each of these little things for himself. He knows Spock has had a record three orgasms before shooting an actual load before, but what Jim doesn't know is if he can make a new record. How many times can he get Spock to orgasm before he actually comes; Jim likes to push his limits.

He wants to say all of this to Spock, but Spock is pretty content on devouring him at the moment, which no arguments here, so he just lets all these emotions and trace thoughts swirl out through his skin into Spock's. And how incredible is that? Jim can kiss and dirty talk at the same time.

"Jim," Spock says, and his hand is suddenly cupping him firmly, making Jim hiss between his teeth. "Jim, I require your commitment that you will not lie to me about any situation where you'll will be planning to put yourself in danger." He squeezes and twists Jim's cock. "Furthermore, I will accompany you on every landing party."

Oh, dirty, manipulative bastard.

Jim presses his lips together, stares defiantly up at the Vulcan above him, but his eyes cross when a blast of sexual satisfaction is sent his way and Spock's thumb flicks over his tip. No fair. He is dealing with an experienced touch-telepath, and feeling not only the work on his cock, but the zings Spock is experiencing as he trails his hand over the smooth, velvety hardness that is himself. God, this could get so confusing – he is hit from all sides in pure gratification.

He is already excited for every sexual encounter that will come after and he's not even through the first with Spock.

"Spock, I may have a strong libido, but nothing you can say is going to make me agree to any promise that puts you in danger when I'm the captain and you're under my command." Jim pants, writhing just the tiniest bit. He allows himself only that under Spock's intense unfaltering gaze. Spock, raises that one eyebrow in a picture of complete sass. Then he is pressing his slick, hot, hard cock against Jim's and grinds his hips down.

The argument is forgotten and halted on both sides as Spock shudders once more (another dry orgasm that delights Jim) and Jim's jaw aches as he tries to hold it together. Nothing has ever felt this good in his whole fucking _life_. Oh, fuck it.

"Fine, fine," Jim moans, grinding back up, shifting with Spock, and rubbing his thumb into Spock's palm. "Stay with me, stay with me."

He can't regret it; kaiidth. Spock belongs next to him. It just means he'll have to be better, do better, think smarter, act quicker, protect, protect, cherish.

"Jim," Spock says before taking control of his mouth, and their grinding is made only better as their chests press together as well. "T'hy'la, you're not alone. Not ever again." And though this is the first time Jim has heard the word spoken, he knows the meaning in his very core. It is them.

"Stubborn bastard," Jim whispers teasingly into Spock's ear, licking around the rim, and reaches a hand down between them, sliding around their cocks until he has enough of Spock's lubrication to use it on his own hole. He's more than ready to be fucked now, but it's been awhile since he's had anything up his ass, and Spock is, well, pretty damn big.

"You are the stubborn one," Spock says with affection, swatting Jim's hand away and using those delectably tapered fingers to enter Jim. He enters two at once, the stretch just the right amount of roughness and pleasure. Jim exhales hard through his open mouth. Spock kisses the side of it.

"God, Spock, hurry, please." Jim feels absolutely feverish, and it might be the temperature settings, or it might be Spock's own burning hot temperature, or (most likely) the fact the Spock is curling his fingers and adding a third and bumping his wet cock near Jim's hole and then adding the moisture to slicken his passage.

The fingers are gone (no) but then quickly replaced by the tip of Spock's shaft (yes, yes) and Jim is wrapping and twining and their bodies become one in the closest way possible, but their minds (yes, yes, yes) their minds need no encouragement to completely realign and merge and coexist in the only harmony either has ever truly felt.

"You feel so good. So, so good." Jim doesn't know what he's saying, but the words don't matter because the experience, the feelings those are existed in infinite timelines, across stars, and this. This, this, this.

* * *

Vulcans don't sweat so it is exotic to be sliding against Jim's chest, his arms; the salt on his tongue from Kirk's neck tastes almost sweet. Spock is wet where it counts though, and as Jim's hold grips him impossibly tighter, Spock knows he can pick up the pace and slide rougher because he has never been so drenched in his entire life.

Happiness builds in his (their) gut and the bliss is new, it is innocent in a way he can't possibly be feeling right now – God, the noises that Jim makes are _filthy_ – but it's pure. It builds and builds, and the light that Jim has always (always) had in Spock's eyes is becoming theirs; a golden glow that promises a bond unbreakable.

It is strengthening steadily, and his speed quickens further as he slams his hips into Jim's; a thread that is them and in them, beautiful and resilient. A bond, one that always (always) belonged there, but now was receiving the exact nourishment it needed. If it were a literal thread he would wrap it around his knuckles and then wrap it around Jim and pull, and they would slam together, but the thread wouldn't cut into their skin, because it's theirs and it doesn't hurt in the bad ways, only in the good, and he would never, never, _ever _release it.

Spock is panting vocally in Jim's ears, and Jim is all but mewling, lost but not alone, because Spock can see it in the way Jim's deep incandescent blue eyes are locked on his, urging him, loving him.

It happens suddenly, muscles taut, bodies quaking in perfect rhythm together, and the worlds fall away, and everything but the stars and them. Right where they were always meant to be. Together and each other, forever and all at once.

It is another moment, where Jim is Jim, Spock is Spock, and (always touching) they are each other.

The stars spread out around them: joy, sorrow, rage, love (love, so much passionate love), and together they hold them close, let them go, experience them together, letting it flow through them and to them and it is enough.

Together they are enough.

Their story is the same. Thus, their ending remains the same.

**Author's Note:**

Hello, all! New to the fandom in that I've been obsessively reading all that is Spirk for almost a year, but this is my first actual Spirk (and Star Trek) fic. God, I'm a mess over these two idiots. Kirk and Spock make me distraught with feels. Anyways, I haven't been able to write my own stuff because of these two, so I decided to finally write their story.

This story is not only my love letter to them, but to the fandom as a whole (because even though I was introduced to them in 2009, some of you inspiring authors and readers have been doing this for damn near half a (fucking) century). There are just some amazing character studies of Kirk and Spock out there, and gorgeous portrayals of how their story fits together, that I just can't.

So I tried. And while I'm an AOSTrek fan I learned a lot of TOSTrek stuff from other fics, but there's bound to be things that don't make sense or whatnot, but I just had to write the two in my head. (See, I'm a mess over them.)


End file.
